Hammers in the Wind

by Christian Warren Freed

  “The princess was only a small part of the story. Anienam Keiss told us already. The return of the Dae’shan has sparked this war. Malweir stands on the border of destruction if Badron is victorious. We must escape. Much work is left to be done,” she told him.

  He understood, but didn’t see how it was possible. Bahr held out his empty hands. “I’m no hero. The only reason I went to Rogscroft was for her. Otherwise I might never have come back to port.”

  She laid a gentle hand on his forearm. “You are stronger than you know, Captain. The hour may be dark, but your men still need you.”

  “What can I do? I’m only a man.”

  The helplessness in his voice frustrated her.

  “A time will come for self pity, but it is not now. Each second we delay gives our enemies time to further their cause,” she admonished.

  “Perhaps you are right,” he begrudgingly admitted.

  Rekka smiled. “Good. What is our plan?”

  *****

  Harnin One Eye finished the last of his flagon of wine, using his sleeve to wipe the stain from his lips. Dark thoughts plagued his dreams of late. He’d done what the shadow man had wanted. The Dae’shan as King Badron named them. They warned him of a serious threat growing against the throne and he had become a hero in the process of eliminating that threat. Why then was his mind troubled so? His thoughts turned dark. All he wanted to do was inflict pain. Hurt others. Harnin flung his goblet aside angrily.

  “What is happening to me!” he cried.

  Faint echoes of a desperate plea answered him. He should have been content with his role but he wasn’t. He wanted more. Given this first taste of power, his cravings only increased to the point they threatened to overwhelm him. Unknown desires plagued his dreams. Badron was gone, leaving him the undisputed power to rule Delranan as he saw fit. Harnin decided it was time to recreate the kingdom in his own image. Sudden dreams of empire emerged. Badron wanted Rogscroft, but why settle? Harnin saw the opportunity to conquer all of the north. Delranan would be remade: strong, malevolent, and feared across the face of the world.

  Darkness swirled around him. Harnin cringed in the shell of his newfound arrogance. He relaxed slightly when the shadows coalesced into a now familiar form.

  Pelthit Re stood before him, arms folded within the comfort of his robes.

  “You come uninvited,” Harnin slurred through the wine.

  The Dae’shan sneered. “There is no mortal on all of Malweir that may command me. Perhaps a further demonstration of my power is required?”

  Harnin paled. “No.”

  Pelthit released the raw power gathering around him. Killing the one eye would only work against his greater vision. “Have you done as I commanded?”

  “Yes. The mercenaries are dead and the rest are secure in the dungeon. They will be dead soon.”

  “Has word been sent to Badron yet? Holding the king’s brother might prove dangerous. It may become necessary to kill him sooner.”

  Harnin nodded. “I sent a messenger yesterday. He should reach the army in three days.”

  Pelthit Re began to pace. He had to time his ploy near perfectly if he had any hope of unlocking the powers the dark gods promised him. His masters’ required the blood of a thousand sacrifices in order to transfer their foul power to the Dae’shan and begin the reclamation of Malweir.

  “I have further need of you,” he suddenly said. “Is there a place in Delranan where a temple might be constructed?”

  “A temple? For what? My people do not worship any gods,” Harnin replied.

  Soon they will, Pelthit Re smiled. “Build me a temple and all of your darkest fantasies will come true.”

  Harnin pretended to think, though in truth his mind was already committed to the ravishing of his own kingdom.

  Battalions of squat, grey-bodied Goblins marched out from their underground kingdom. Their leather armor and helms were blackened. Their swords sharpened. Wicked looking pikes were barbed and poisoned. Each bore a bone shield on his back. Sergeants moved up and down the ranks barking orders and calling cadence. Overseers lashed their whips to keep the army moving.

  Unbridled anger and pride choked the air. No more than five feet tall, Goblins were notoriously strong. Thick, corded muscles covered their arms and legs. Their faces were flat with coal black eyes and tufts of black hair. Tusks protruded from upper and lower jaws giving them a fearsome appearance. Most bore too many scars and all thrilled at the chance for combat.

  The Goblin nation had once stretched from ocean to ocean. Their days of glory were over, plundered from history books by a combined campaign of Men, Elves, Dwarves, and countless others. The Goblins were all but forgotten now, a blight upon Malweir that many chose to disbelieve. Today the army marched back to war, back to a time of dominance long since lost.

  Grugnak, the Goblin king, stood atop a jagged rock outcropping and watched his hordes. He was barely discernible from the dull gray rock and the blackening sky. No vegetation grew upon the open plain. It was a sea of moving bodies, armored and hungry for war. He stared down upon his army with pride. Grugnak believed in destiny. Now was his hour, his time to lead his people back to the forefront of Malweir’s future. The two shadowed Dae’shan standing behind him were here to ensure it. Pale moonlight made them almost ethereal.

  “Your army is a magnificent sight,” Amar Kit’han encouraged softly.

  Grugnak grunted.

  The Dae’shan exchanged knowing looks. They both remembered the days of Goblin dominance and it was an ugly memory. They were, however, necessary to affect the coming of the dark gods. Amar was confident that the stage had finally been set. All of the pieces were in place. He folded darkness around him and left the Goblin king to his dreams of glory.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Piper Joach wiped the sweat from his face. Dust and soot stained his skin a charcoal color. Blood trickled down the right side of his neck. A cold wind whipped his hair wildly. Smoke went down his lungs, choking him. He reached out and grabbed Sergeant Major Bors.

  “Bring second platoon up and flank these bastards,” he shouted above the crackle of fires raging around them.

  “Sir!”

  Piper turned, not bothering to see his orders carried out. Fires raged in a semi circle around his company. The Rogscroft defenders had been waiting for them and were well organized. They fired the surrounding forest at the first sign of his scouts. Rumors that Prince Aurec himself led the defense reached Piper. He watched two soldiers drag another body back and lay it beside the seven others. Piper cursed harshly. Eight dead and he had nothing to show for it.

  Sergeant Malleck rode up in hurry. “Sir, there are enemy cavalry moving up on the right.”

  Piper couldn’t see through the smoke. Another damned distraction. “How many?”

  “A company plus,” Malleck replied.

  “Damnation. Who’s holding that flank?”

  “Fensin. He’s got a handful of wounded but is holding. Sir, when that cavalry strikes he won’t be able to stand.”

  Three arrows zipped past their heads.

  Piper had had enough. “Clear out those archers!”

  A reserve squad unbuckled their shields and charged towards where the fire had come from.

  “Sir,” Sergeant Major Bors said after joining them. “General Rolnir is coming fast. We can’t afford to let the army get trapped in those damned mountains. We have to push forward now.”

  Piper knew every man in his command had the same feelings. One hundred and twenty men against who knew how many enemies was not a tactically sound position. He’d already sent a rider back to Rolnir explaining the situation. No matter how long it took for Rolnir’s main body to arrive, Piper knew it would be too late to help. Bors was right. They had to act now if he expected to preserve at least some of his command.

  “Sergeant Major, I want first and fourth platoons formed up on me at the double. Double-wedge formation.”

  Bors smiled. Sergeant Malleck looked
questioningly at him. “Sir?”

  “I mean to attack them.”

  It took mere moments for seventy riders to form up behind him. The only chance they had was to meet the enemy head on before Aurec could seal the trap. There was the chance that many of his men would be killed, but it was a chance he had to force. Piper climbed into his saddle. Malleck and Bors rode at the head of their respective wedges and nodded to their commander.

  “Forward!” Piper drew a deep breath and gave the order before he realized he might very well be committing suicide.

  The mounted force surged forward. A handful of arrows went by harmlessly. Piper suddenly decided that he hated archers. The horses started at a slow cant, carefully picking up the pace as the undergrowth thinned. One man fell from the saddle, an arrow in his side. The smoke cleared ahead, giving him the opportunity to see what awaited. He blanched. There had to have been over two hundred enemy cavalry riding in to meet him.

  Piper struggled to keep his mouth closed. He’d never gone up against such massive odds. Death seemed a foregone conclusion. Resigning himself to apparent destiny, Piper gave the signal to charge. He prayed his men managed to do enough damage to Aurec that Rolnir and the main body would be able to smash through.

  His men roared as they surge forward. The thunder of hooves boomed across the blackened field. The charged thundered closer. Another hundred meters and the lines would clash. Piper noticed the most unusual occur. Prince Aurec lowered his visor and broke forward into a gallop. Pier felt deflated. Overwhelming numbers meant little in melee combat. The hammer stroke would be the hardest. Men and horse would die horribly. Aurec answered the blood pounding in his veins. Fifty meters.

  Piper Joach watched his enemy launch their counter charge and felt his hopes dash. His meager forces stood little chance of success, much less survival. Dead men, they showed no signs of fear. The very thought of dying in defeat shamed him. Piper dug his spurs in harder. The battle lines closed. Piper became aware of every minute detail. Sweat flew from his horse. The wind whirled the dust and ash into small funnels. He listened to his heart beat, smooth and steady. Piper wondered if this was what death felt like. Ten more meters and he was going to find out.

  The lines clashed. Chaos erupted across the battle space. Men and horses screamed. Ropes of blood danced acrobatically through the air. Steel met steel in harsh clangs. Piper crashed into a foe, the impact jarring deep in his spine. He heard the snap of a horse’s neck. Blood sprayed onto the ashes. Piper watched Malleck go down. A spear struck from his horse’s head. He pushed the thought as far away as possible. Malleck would have to wait. Piper ducked to avoid a decapitating slice. He lashed out with his own, the blade biting into his enemy’s throat. Blood splashed across his face. He ignored it and brought his blade up in time to guard against another blow.

  Piper looked around. He was surrounded, cut off from the rest of his men in mere seconds. The battle had degenerated into a series of individual contests. Occasionally a knight got lucky and found himself in a favorable position, but that was rare. The men of Rogscroft fought with a desperate need. Piper knew his enemies had no choice to win. Their combat reflected that attitude.

  More of his men fell. Desperation took Piper. Dead and wounded littered the ground amidst growing pools of dark blood. There was no way he could win. Aurec was too strong. Piper hacked downward, taking off an arm at the elbow. Another rider charged by, knocking Piper’s horse sideways. The move, accidental as it was, saved Piper’s life. Searing pain lanced across his right shoulder blade as another rider slashed at his neck and missed. Piper stabbed and was rewarded with a deep grunt.

  Sergeant Malleck struggled out from under his dead horse. His left leg was broken from the knee down. He used a shattered lance to push himself forward. A spear caught him in his chest, punching out his back in a bone crunching noise. His blue eyes rolled back in his head and a final gasp escaped his lungs. He was dead before he hit the ground.

  Horns bleated down from the nearby mountain pass. The Wolfsreik had come. Piper Joach suddenly felt a small measure of relief. The battle paused, mercifully, as knights from both sides turned to see the first ranks of heavy infantry pouring down onto the open plains.

  The defenders retreated. Piper’s sorely beaten company was left to consolidate and lick their wounds. Seventy men had ridden out. Less than forty lived. Piper surveyed the battlefield. Bodies lay everywhere. All butchered in the name of duty. The sight of so much death made him wince. He felt like a failure. So much death and nothing to show for it. Rolnir would slap his back and congratulate them for securing the pass. The dead would be forgotten and the war would continue. He sighed and wiped the blood and sweat from his face. His eyes watered as they picked out Malleck.

  Massed ranks of infantry formed up and pushed past the devastation of the flames. Battalions of cavalry followed. Among them rode General Rolnir. Not the man to shed tears after a battle, Rolnir couldn’t help himself. The sight of so many of his men butchered was sheer horror.

  Rolnir found Piper standing over Malleck’s body. The general struggled to keep his emotions in check.

  Piper looked up at him with a blank glaze. “We held.”

  “What happened?”

  The adjutant could only shake his head. He idly rubbed a spot of blood from his cheek. “They were waiting for us. Fired the trees once we were fully committed. Aurec’s a wily son of a bitch. He hit us with archers and light skirmishers. It would have been a rout if I didn’t order a charge.”

  Rolnir scanned the area. There were over a hundred bodies just in the immediate vicinity. “How many troops do you think they had?”

  “We squared off on about two hundred cavalry here.”

  Piper’s voice was hollow. His eyes grew more distant, glassy.

  “I’m proud of you, Piper. Your men did good.”

  Piper Joach found it hard to look at his commanding officer and friend. “General, I don’t feel much like we won. I’ve got too many dead and nothing to show for it.”

  “You secured the lowlands for the rest of the army. Your men did well, Piper. To think otherwise is a grave disservice to their sacrifice. Honor your men tonight. It is the least we can do,” Rolnir told him.

  “Yes sir.”

  The general turned to leave. “Piper, have your men stand down. The rest of the army will set up the encampment. Get some hot food and some rest. We’re not going anywhere for a while yet.”

  “What about the king?”

  Rolnir forced a terse laugh. “I’ll give him the report. He’s about an hour behind us the last I knew. Go on now. I don’t want to see your battalion again until I call for you.”

  Piper Joach hung his head, offered a half salute and went to find Sergeant Major Bors. They’d be glad for the respite, but smarting from their losses. Rolnir watched him go. His heart wept for the man, but this was war. Death was a large part of it. All in all, Rolnir considered this a good start to the campaign. He spun about and began issuing orders. He wanted to get as much done before Badron arrived, just to keep the king quiet.

  *****

  Prince Aurec slid his viewing glass shut and let out a long, slow breath. All that he’d heard of the vaunted Wolfsreik fell short from seeing them in action for the first time. The victory he won was hollow, almost tainted by so many losses. His position was already perilous and had grown decidedly worse now. His father had entrusted him with a host of five hundred men to try and delay the enemy for as long as possible. Based on the sheer strength of the army marching down from the mountains Aurec doubted that delay was going to be very long.

  “They are still coming,” Venten said from slightly behind.

  “Ten thousand strong.”

  Venten looked at the prince, silently checking the measure of his will. “That number is a little less now.”

  “As is our own,” Aurec countered. “Has there been any sign of King Badron yet?”

  “No, though a large portion of his pavilion has already b
een erected by the tree line on the far side of the field. What are you thinking?”

  “Cut off the head and see if the beast dies.”

  Venten shook his head. “That will be tricky. Who are you planning on sending in to accomplish that?”

  “I’m not sure yet. Tonight will be our only chance. We need to strike while they are still unprepared.”

  “A suicide mission,” Venten suggested.

  Aurec reluctantly nodded. “More than likely. I’m thinking of leading it.”

  “I won’t allow it. This is not the main army. We don’t have the luxury to throw our lives away so foolishly. Least of all our commander and prince.”

  “You and I both know that if I wanted to go you wouldn’t stop me.”

  Venten struggled to refrain from speaking his mind. “How your father managed to put up with you this long is beyond me. What is your back-up plan?”

  Aurec hadn’t made it that far. “I’m still working that out, who do we have that can sneak in there and bring me Badron’s head? Literally.”

  “I’m sure Mahn and Raste would appreciate the opportunity.”

  He smirked. “Raste more so. But no, I have something else in mind for them. Come on. I want Shirsez and his men to meet us in one hour.”

  The stalked away, leaving the Wolfsreik to themselves.

  “Are there any questions?” Aurec asked.

  He’d finished briefing what his expectations were for the mission. Fully one-fifth of his forces were going to be committed and that worried him. Venten stood by his side, ever the stalwart companion and mentor.

  Shirsez rubbed his chin thoughtfully. This wasn’t his first choice of assignment but he was fully prepared to do his duty for the kingdom. “My lord, my men will do their job. We can handle it.”

  “Don’t do anything brash. I don’t want one of my best getting killed this early in the war. You can do that later if you want,” Aurec joked.